The Difference Between Us and Them
by Choice
Summary: Only the cool couples have d#@knames.


**The Difference Between Us and Them**

**

* * *

**I was skimming through _puckurt_'s Fic Meme, when a prompt from _drikadas_ caught my eye: "Puck and Kurt gave each others cocks pet names. And they make good use of it. At school." So you all have her to thank for this fic! (She also inspired "Fender". ;D)

Also? Nessie = Loch Ness Monster = _a big penis._  
Also²: whoever can spot an elusive novel-turned-film (turned-Broadway-musical) reference (which is the _title_ of the actual piece, rather than a quote/situation) will get... something!

Enjoy!

* * *

The first time Kurt called him "Fender", using his take on The Bedroom Voice to seductively stretch it out, lilting like a perfect chord progression-_in the middle of the fucking hall_-Puck was the very unfortunate recipient of an insta-boner so ninja-sneaky, it left him yelping like some pathetic animal in its wake. But fuck, how could he _not_ get harder faster than Kurt could rant about GaGa? It wasn't fair that Kurt was so underhanded when he sought revenge (for something as stupid as Puck forgetting to tell him he had to bail out last week).

He could still hear Kurt's snickers, even after the bitch turned the corner, and Puck groaned to himself, whacking his forehead into the metal grill of a locker. _Fuck_ the fucking dentist appointment that got him into this mess. He should've told his ma he couldn't take Sarah, ignored her guilt trips, and headed over to the mall where he was supposed to meet up with Kurt. (They were going to some music and arts thing in Columbus, and it was easier to carpool-plus, fooling around in the car at rest stops were too much fun to resist.)

He glared at the dweebs who had the guts to lay their eyes on him as they passed by. Those assholes didn't _know_ how fucking hot Kurt was when he set his brain to Seduce, especially if he pulled the Cock Names card out from his sleeve. And if all went according to plan (read: if Kurt ever _did_ make good on his word to use those handcuffs with those sadly untouched anal beads), no one but _Puck_ would get to hear Kurt dirty-talk like a shameless little slut. Kurt was _his_ dirty little fucking bitch until Puck decided he wasn't-there was nothing Kurt could do about it, either. It wasn't like Kurt suffered as a result of Puck's more and more frequent streaks of crazy-bad possessiveness. (Unless Kurt _wanted_ to-Puck knew when he did, because Kurt usually chose to harmlessly flirt with an awkward, obviously uninterested Finn.)

He eventually managed to deflate the balloon in his pants, Puck's mouth morphed into a dangerously predatory smirk, and he ignored the frightened whimpers of passing underclassmen as he stalked off in the direction of Kurt's current class. So what if he was missing his Geography class? Kurt had been a little slut, and Puck could _not_ let Kurt think he could get away with publicly humiliating Puck like that (even if the thought of dry-humping Kurt's leg right there in the hallway made him almost _explode_).

* * *

Kurt got his apology from Puck during a cliché rendezvous in a supply closet. While it wasn't perfect and one hundred percent heartfelt (Puck _did_ grovel at his feet… not for an apology, though), Kurt figured it counted since he said "Sorry, babe" _after_ everything was said and done. (Puck was even chivalrous this time-in his own special way, that is: Kurt got a blowjob before words were even added into the equation of tongue and skin.)

Of course, Puck teased him to the point of being inhumane for using his dickname ("Like a nickname, but for a _dick!_ Get it?" "Puck, shut _up_.) in public, but Kurt wasn't averse to a bit of sadomasochism. Hell, he'd rather be begging for Puck's mouth on his dick than eating a wilted, festering excuse of a Caesar salad in the cafeteria.

Kurt felt they were both even now, and Puck almost pleading with Kurt to "tune his Fender" was an unexpected added bonus.

He smirked as they went their separate ways in the thankfully empty hallway. The Cheerios had it all wrong: it _w__as_ all about the teasing, because it made the pleasing _so damn good._

* * *

In glee club, about a week after the Fender Incident, Puck waltzed in and greeted Kurt, in front of all of the gleeks, as "Nessie."

Kurt flushed beet-red as about _all_ of their friends eyed them in confusion… minus Brittany.

Britt grinned and asked, in her perkiest you-can't-bring-me-down voice, "Like the lake monster?"

Puck, whose eyes had never left Kurt's, smirked downright lewdly. "…You could say _that_."

"Oh!" Rachel cried, in her typical tone of voice that meant she'd just had a brilliant epiphany that would change life as they all knew it. "Like a pet name! How cute! You know, my Two Gay Dads call each other Love-Muffin and Sugar-Daddy and…"

Kurt groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose in irritation as Puck slid into the plastic chair beside him, chuckling at Kurt's expense. "Bitch."

"Think of it as payback," Puck said with a smarmy grin. "Besides, you know you love it…" Here, he leaned close enough for his breath to tickle Kurt's ear in all the right ways, and more. "…_Nessie_."

He gulped and nearly swallowed his own tongue, leaning away from Puck with an indignant glare when the idiot laughed-loudly-in his ear. "We'll… discuss this later," Kurt said evenly, in a tone that brooked no argument.

Not that Puck looked like he wanted to argue. Schue came in right then, so Puck turned around to face forward, lowering his voice so only Kurt could hear him. "If, by _discuss_, you mean christening Finn's bed this afternoon." Kurt's heart might've stopped for one long moment. He choked when his dick, which had been half-on, half-off for most of their conversation, made an honorable attempt at transforming itself into solid marble in his Armani jeans.

Kurt quickly scrambled for his messenger bag, 'accidentally' elbowing a not-so-quietly snickering Puck in the process. But god, how he loved the sound of that. "_Later_," He hissed after Mr. Schue gave them a reprimanding sideways glance.

* * *

Sadly, later would be _much_ later, because Finn's date with Rachel had been taken to the Hummel-Hudson residence. "We were supposed to go for a stroll in the park, but it started raining," Rachel complained, while Puck mouthed "Stroll?" to Finn, because really, what twenty-first-century teenager used that word in everyday conversation?

Puck and Kurt got roped into hanging out with the couple, because Finn could totally pull off guilt trips better than Puck's mother ever could. They lasted a record thirty minutes in the presence of such candy-coated, gooey conversation, and if Puck had to hear Rachel coo "Boo-Bear" one more goddamn time…

"You know what I like about us?" Kurt asked. They had retreated to the backyard, since Finn and Rachel were probably reciting Shakespeare instead of fooling around (he couldn't decide which would be worse) and Kurt's dad and Carole were home. Puck was _not_ scared of Burt. "You just can't put two alphas in the same room, especially when I'm totally bangin' his cub," Puck had insisted, and Kurt had been torn between laughing or hitting Puck upside the head-he'd settled for both.

Puck quickly licked up the melted popsicle juice that had been running down the wooden stick. "What?"

"We're not Finn and Rachel."

He stopped, blinking at Kurt around his ice pop. "Um… _duh_. Even if I didn't score with Rach, even _I_ know she doesn't have a dick."

Kurt rolled his eyes, sucking at the very tip of his all-natural lime pop. "What I meant…" Puck eyed his mouth, and Kurt leered (beyond suggestively) and took a very precise bite out of his popsicle. "What I mean was, we don't act so nauseously sappy all the time." ("Try _none_ of the time!" Puck argued, which Kurt chose to ignore.) "Rachel and Finn resort to syrupy monikers-pet names, Puck-whereas we choose to put our wits to the test."

Puck was clearly confused, but he had more than enough multitasking abilities to also mouth at his bomb pop. (Which was fucking delicious, especially because they (_he_) had chased the fucking ice cream truck down the street for it.) He stuffed it all the way into his mouth, down to the popsicle stick, and smirked at Kurt around it before pulling it out of his mouth with exaggerated licking noises. "Meaning…?"

Kurt licked his lips and cleared his throat. "We challenge each other to come up with the most perverse dicknames."

Puck blinked stupidly when Kurt lapped the not-artificial lime juice from his fingertips (Kurt could be such a tease when he was on a revenge streak, but Puck had to admit this strange, backwards game of Gay Chicken was kind of hot.) "Oh."

"Yeah, _oh._" Kurt smirked, studying his maimed-no, _manicured_-nails with a totally fake sort of attention. "You say that _a lot_ to Nessie, don't you?"

Puck gaped at him for a moment, before snorting in laughter, reaching out to cuff Kurt on the back of his neck. "Baby's first innuendo, I'm so proud."

Kurt shot him a side-glance. "Honey, I'm no baby."

He made his most Badass Sex Shark expression and purposely laid his hand ridiculously close to Kurt's jeans zipper. "I don't know… wanna _refresh_ my mem-"

"_Ahem_."

Puck froze, and Kurt… well, Kurt looked like he was about to piss his pants. He felt Kurt twitch in his boxers as his boner was practically vacuumed into nothingness, and he sympathized. Oh, how he sympathized.

"Puckerman."

He gulped, refusing to look away from Kurt's wide-eyed expression for one moment. "…Sir?"

"I want you to remove your grabby hands from my son… five seconds ago."

"Sorry, Sir."

"I think your mom called the house a few minutes ago," Kurt's dad said, totally faking casual. His fists were clenched into two big, meaty weapons of doom at his sides, and _damn_, was it just from this perspective, or did Mr. Hummel grow a few thousand feet?

"Right." Puck knew an out when he saw one. "I'll be going home then, Sir."

"You do that."

Puck got up and brushed himself off, figuring he should at least _pretend_ to be badass. He turned at Kurt, giving him a half-smirk. "See you 'round, Woody."

_Are you a moron? _Kurt mouthed frantically, refusing to turn around and look at Mr. Hummel's utterly furious, God-would-shiver-in-His-Divine-Boots scowl. Had Puck not been on the receiving end of that look, he'd marvel at how close to the color purple Mr. H's face was.

"Puckerman…"

Right. Puck's a badass, not _dumb_ass: he can take a hint. "Later, Mr. H!"


End file.
